Gospel Story Finder

Rick Weirich couldn’t see through the viewfinder of his video camera because of the tears in his eyes. But he kept the camera pointed at his two sons on the field. His sons were standing by the pole vault venue with their arms around each other, the younger one comforting his older brother. Moments before, they had been competing against each other in the pole vault at a regional track and field meet in Texas to decide who would go on to the state championships. The brothers had had big plans. They wanted to place first and second in regionals and go to state together. Chris had broken his pole on his first try, and, on his final try with his backup pole, he was eliminated when he didn’t clear the height.
Before younger brother Matt set up for his next attempt, he stopped. He had something more important to do. He needed to see if his brother was all right. He needed to say some reassuring words to Chris. For a moment these two brothers, who had been competitors, stood together, sharing the burden of disappointment.
The parents, Rick and Brenda, didn’t need videotape to record the scene. It was being recorded in their hearts. What they saw wasn’t failure but a huge success. Their sons cared more about each other than they did about winning.

Katie danced into the kitchen, where her brother, Jack sat at the table. “What are you doing?” she asked as she twirled on her toes.
“I’m writing a thank-you note to Uncle Ed,” Jack told her. “He gave me his old stamp collection.”
“I want to write a thank-you note too.”
“That would be nice, but since tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, why don’t you make valentines, instead?” her brother suggested.
Katie twirled again while she thought about that. Then she started smiling. “I have another idea,” she told Jack. Then she hurried off to her bedroom.
Katie found her colored paper and markers. She got her scissors and glue. She took some white paper and cut out five wide heart-shaped ruffles. Then she glued each one on a piece of red paper. On the first one, she drew trees on one side of the ruffle and a letter carrier waving on the other side. In the middle, she printed “Thank You, from Katie.” Next, she made one with striped balls around the ruffle, and one with a piano on each side of the ruffle. The last one she made had checkerboard squares around the ruffle. All the heart centers said, “Thank You, from Katie.”
Katie put the valentine with the striped balls into her dad’s shoe. He always played catch with her.
She put the one with the pianos into her mom’s coat pocket. Mom played the piano with Katie, and they sang songs.
She slipped the checkerboard ruffle valentine inside Jack’s desk. He was teaching her how to play checkers.
She put the last ruffled heart into their mailbox. The letter carrier always waved to her as he walked by.
Early the next morning, Katie’s dad started to get ready for work. He felt sleepy and a little cranky. When he grabbed his shoes, Katie’s thank-you valentine tumbled out. Dad looked at the striped ball and smiled because he liked to play catch with Katie. He read the thank-you in the middle and smiled again. He started whistling.
In the afternoon, Mom had to go grocery shopping. She snatched her shopping list and hurried out the door. She was in such a rush that she didn’t even wave to their neighbor, Mrs. James. But when Mom put the shopping list into her pocket, she found Katie’s thank-you valentine. She looked at the pianos on the ruffle and smiled. She read the message and smiled again. Then she stopped to show Mrs. James the special thank-you valentine and asked if she needed anything from the store.
An icy wind nipped at the letter carrier’s cheeks as he walked down Katie’s street. When he put some letters into Katie’s mailbox, her thank-you valentine blew out. He caught it and looked at the pictures. He read the message and smiled. Then he waved to Katie and smiled all the way down the street.
After school, Jack sighed as he went to his room to work on his math homework. Numbers mixed him up, and he wanted to eat supper. Jack opened his desk to get a pencil, and Katie’s thank-you valentine popped out. Jack looked at the checkerboard ruffle and smiled. He read the thank-you in the center and smiled again as he began figuring out his math problems.
Later, Jack found Katie feeding her goldfish. “I like my thank-you valentine,” he told her.
“Really?”
“Of course! Everyone likes it when someone remembers to say thank you. Now, how about a game of checkers?”
“Sure!” Katie danced off to get the game.

3. Temple Work and Family History One of the essential ways we can help the Lord bring about the eternal life of man is to be involved in temple work. Searching out our ancestors, who died without a knowledge of the gospel, and then performing vicarious temple ordinances in their behalf enables us to become “Saviors on Mount Zion.” Through our spiritual efforts in this great work, we directly assist the Lord in increasing His glory.
There are many examples of faithful Latter-day Saints who have made great sacrifices in order to visit a temple—sometimes traveling great distances with much difficulty from their homes.
A wonderful example of such sacrifice concerns the members of the Church in Manaus, Brazil. The city of Manaus is located in a remote region of northwestern Brazil near the confluence of the Rio Negro and Amazon Rivers.
Travel from their isolated area is primarily on these two rivers which can be terribly rough and dangerous. For over 20 years, thousands of these faithful saints have traveled for 15 days round trip to attend the distant temple in Sao Paulo. During their arduous journey they traveled over 6000 miles by both boat and bus. Their travel was both uncomfortable and dangerous, but they were determined to attend the temple and perform sacred ordinances on behalf of their departed ancestors. They truly deserve to be called Saviors on Mt. Zion.

Once I was awakened by a call from an anxious mother. Her premature child was not expected to survive the night. She asked for a priesthood blessing. As I approached the suffering child, the mother stopped me, looked into my eyes, and asked, “Are you worthy to bless my child?” That was an appropriate question. One never feels completely worthy, but we must do our best to be so. There came a strong prompting to bless the child to recover. The worthy mother continued professional treatment and exercised her faith. The Lord responded with the additional blessing needed. And the child recovered.

When Omer and his parents moved from Tijuana to Monterrey, they left behind family, friends, and a home they knew and loved. It was hard, but it was also exciting for Omer. One thing that wasn’t so exciting, however, was leaving behind a conveniently located temple in San Diego. Now a trip to the temple involves considerable travel.

“I really miss the temple,” says Omer. “Here you usually get only one chance a year to go to the Mexico City Temple. In Tijuana we would cross the border and go to San Diego on the first Saturday every month. The feeling in our family was always a little bit different, a little special on those days. The people in the temple always seemed glad to see us there. I know that it will be the same when the temple is here.”

I first had contact with the missionaries in 1992. From their first discussion, I felt something special in my heart. As the discussions progressed, I learned of gospel principles that I never knew existed. The first time I attended a Church meeting, I was warmly greeted by the members as though they had always known me.
I was the first member of my family to be baptized. Now my two sisters are also members, and my father is reading the Book of Mormon.
For some months now, I have been receiving the Liahona (Spanish), and I am very pleased with its contents.
For a First Presidency Message President Thomas S. Monson wrote: “The Paths Jesus Walked.” I was touched deeply by his counsel: “In a very real sense, all can walk where Jesus walked when, with His words on our lips, His spirit in our hearts, and His teachings in our lives, we journey through mortality.”
The magazine contains messages that teach so much. The articles about the Saints, and their testimonies, not only help me, but they can also help others who are not yet members of the Church.
Wanda RiveraIsabela Branch, Mayaguez Puerto Rico Stake

I once met a man who was just a few months old when he lost sight in both eyes. He could have let his disability ruin his life, but instead he empowered his hearing and became a concert pianist. He developed the ability to re-create on the piano the music he hears. Since he can’t read the scriptures, he could have become spiritually dormant. But instead, he developed a spiritual sensitivity by listening daily to recordings of the scriptures.

Now I am not perfect, and neither are you. At times I am greatly tempted and so are you. Look at Satan’s potential prize if he can get me. Think how vulnerable my children then become! What’s your net worth if he can get you? Think of your unborn posterity. What is their value? Can you see their faces and envision their personalities? Can Satan capture them without so much as a skirmish by getting you before they’re even born? It can happen. It did in my family. My great-great-grandfather and his brother were stonecutters on the Nauvoo Temple, having come to America as immigrants from Great Britain. When the prophet said “go west,” my great-great-grandfather moved out. His brother, for one reason or another, found sufficient excuse to stay in Iowa. Today my great-great-grandfather has a posterity that numbers into the hundreds, if not thousands. Many have matched his faithfulness and brought glory to his name. His brother has but a handful of living descendants, every single one out of the Church. There is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints within his posterity. This earth just may close out its term of existence without any trace of his bloodline having ever embraced the gospel of Christ. Truly, that is damnation.

As a very young elder, I went to the old Primary Children’s Hospital on North Temple Street to provide blessings for the sick children. Upon entering, we noted the Christmas tree with its bright and friendly lights and saw carefully wrapped packages beneath its outstretched limbs. We went through the corridors where tiny boys and girls—some with casts upon arms, some with casts upon legs, others with ailments that perhaps could not be cured so readily—each one with a smile upon his face.
I walked toward the bedside of one small boy. He said, “What is your name?” I told him.
He inquired, “Will you give me a blessing?” The blessing was provided, and as we turned to leave his bedside, he said “Thank you very much.”
We walked a few steps and then I heard his call, “Brother Monson.” I turned. He said, “Merry Christmas to you.” And a great smile flashed across his countenance.
That boy had the Christmas spirit.

Amelia liked visiting Grandma. She liked playing with the toy animals, especially with Grandma’s soft stuffed bunny. But today wasn’t for playing. Today was for helping.
On the way to Grandma’s house, Amelia’s sisters talked about which jobs they wanted to do.
Sarah wanted to sweep. Emily wanted to mop. And Mom asked Alyssa to clean the windows.
“What about me?” Amelia asked. “Should I help dust?”
“I have a special job for you,” Mom said. “I need you to listen.”
Amelia waited. “OK, I’m listening. What is it?”
“That’s the job!” Mom said with a laugh. “Just listen. Sit with Grandma and listen while she talks. It might be the most important job we do all day.”
How could listening be the most important job? Amelia wondered. It seemed like dusting would be more of a real job! But Amelia was willing to try.
Grandma was glad to see them. Everyone else got started on their jobs. Amelia went and sat next to Grandma on the couch. Amelia noticed the stuffed bunny in the corner. “I like your rabbit,” she said.
Grandma smiled. “Did I ever tell you about my brother Mel and the baby bunny?”
Amelia was surprised. “A real bunny?”
Grandma nodded. “It was an orphan he found. He snuggled it inside his shirt so it would be safe.” Grandma told Amelia about the rabbit pen Mel built.
That story reminded Grandma of other stories. She told about a pet calf she named Star. She used to ride on Star’s back! Amelia giggled as she pictured Grandma riding a baby cow. It wasn’t easy imagining her as a little girl.
Grandma talked and talked. She told the rabbit story again. Another time, she even stopped in the middle of a story and started over.
Amelia tried to keep listening, but she was getting tired. Mom and the other girls were still working.
It was hard to sit and listen! But Grandma smiled. She seemed happy to be sharing her stories.
A few minutes later, Mom came in. “All done! We’re ready go.”
“That was so nice,” Grandma told Amelia. “I love visiting with you!”
Amelia gave her grandma a big hug. She saw tears in Grandma’s eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Amelia asked.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Grandma said. “Thank you for talking with me. I love you.”
Amelia felt warm all the way inside. “I love you too,” she said. “I’ll come again soon.”
On the way home, Alyssa asked, “How was listening, Amelia?”
“It was harder than I thought. I think I was done listening before Grandma was done talking!”
“You were terrific!” Mom said.
“Thanks,” said Amelia. “Some of the stories she told were fun. Did you know Grandma had a pet calf?”
“Like a baby cow?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah! Grandma used to ride it,” Amelia said, nodding. “Her name was Star.”
Amelia told them all of Grandma’s other stories. It was pretty cool to learn so much about her.
Emily grinned. “Maybe you could trade me jobs next time. I want a chance to listen!”

John’s soggy shoes slid in the rutted ice alongside the handcart. A toe snagged on a half-buried rock, and he pitched forward into the snow.
Mama helped him up. “My feet hurt bad, Mama. Could I ride a little way in the handcart?”
“Papa’s too sick to pull extra weight, John. See the willows ahead? We’ll camp there tonight by the river.”
John peered through the falling snow. The willows were so far away! He counted steps: “One … two … three … ,” trying to forget the pain in his half-frozen feet. An ache started in his hands. It worsened until he could no longer concentrate.
His gaze fixed on Mama’s skirt, blowing stiffly in the rising wind. “Your skirt’s frozen, Mama.”
“Only the edges where it drags through the snow,” Mama said, hugging him. Then her light, sweet voice sang out, “Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear …”
Instantly, every voice in the handcart company took up the words. It was a camp rule that when one began singing that special hymn, all must join in.
As Papa’s thin frame pulled against the weight of the handcart, his lips moved soundlessly to the words. A fit of coughing doubled him over. He staggered and fell.
John leaped to Papa’s side and cradled his head in his lap. Men dropped their own handcarts and hurried to help. Papa whispered, “I just need a moment to catch my breath.” Heavy coughing shook him.
The men lifted Papa into the handcart. Tears trembled on Mama’s eyelashes as she tucked a warm buffalo robe around him.
Papa had said that the robes they had bought in Fort Laramie were a mixed blessing. Those who chose to keep warm with them might die of hauling the extra weight. John was glad now that they had discarded other things in order to keep them.
As the men went back to their own handcarts, Mama said, “It’s up to us now, John.” She took Papa’s place in front of the handcart. John stood beside her. His body strained. The handcart bumped slowly forward.
John’s feet, clumsy with cold, trudged inch by weary inch toward the willows. After a while, he felt neither hands nor feet, numbed as they were by wind-whipped snow and sleet.
Finally they reached the willows. “Get what rest you can,” the captain told the company. “Tomorrow we cross the river.”
Cross the river? John could see no ferry. The river was dark with slush ice. He shuddered.
Papa crawled from the handcart and steadied himself against the wheel, coughing weakly.
“I can make camp, Papal” cried John. Papa reached into the handcart for the tent. “Some are working who are sicker than I am,” he said.
Digging in the snow, John found a few sticks of firewood. Soon a pot of mush bubbled over a fire.
Mama scraped the mush into three bowls. “It’s such a little bit,” John sighed, gulping the steaming gruel.
“I know,” said Mama. “The company captain said we must cut the rations in half again.”
Papa spooned a bit of mush into his mouth. “Nobody dreamed that winter would come so early,” he murmured. “Nor be so savage.”
That night John huddled with Mama and Papa under the buffalo robes. Slowly, feeling returned to his hands and feet. Exhausted, he slept.
The next morning John awakened to a camp half buried in snow. In the fierce wind, he helped Mama and Papa pack the handcart. With other Saints, they struggled through the still-falling snow to the riverbank.
“Oh, Papa!” John stared at the rushing slush-thickened water.
“If I stumble, grab the handcart,” was all Papa said. Grimly he pulled the cart into the icy water.
John splashed in behind him. He gasped as the freezing water crept to his chest. Mama hiked up her long skirts and waded after him.
Chunks of jagged ice floated by. One slammed into Papa. He staggered and fell. Trying to reach him, John stepped on a sharp rock and slipped. In an instant, the freezing water closed over him.
Hands grabbed him and steadied him in the fast-moving current. He looked for Papa. There he was! Men were helping him across the river. He saw Mama pulling their handcart onto the far bank.
By the time John reached the handcart, the bitter wind had frozen his clothes to his body. Mama tore them off and helped him into dry things. She replaced her ice-crusted skirt with another one.
Reeling with cold, Papa found dry clothing. Mama shielded him from the storm with a buffalo robe while he changed.
Nobody in the group had strength enough to pitch a tent, but Mama spread their buffalo robes in the scant shelter of the handcart. They burrowed under them, hugging each other for warmth.
John heard snorting and stamping. Horses? That creaking—was it wagons? He poked his head from the covers.
“Papa! Mama!” he called. “It’s covered wagons pulling into camp!” Papa coughed, unable to answer. Mama’s blue lips moved, but no sound came. John scrambled from the covers to get help.
“Brigham Young sent us with provisions as soon as he heard about your company,” a rescuer told John.
“Your mama and papa are suffering from fatigue and exposure,” another said. “We’ll get them into a wagon right away.”
Soon fires blazed in the camp. John stood warming himself, breathing in the smell of sizzling buffalo meat and pan bread.
Given a plate of hot food, John could eat only a mouthful. He was so tired!
The rescuers lifted him into the wagon with Mama and Papa. Bundled under heavy quilts, he listened to Papa’s racking cough and labored breathing.
“Are you all right, Papa?”
Papa couldn’t speak for coughing. The wagon began to move through swirling snow toward Salt Lake. Weak voices of the handcart company joined joyfully with the strong voices of the rescuers. “But if our lives are spared again To see the Saints their rest obtain, Oh, how we’ll make this chorus swell—All is well! All is well!”

When I was pregnant, I loved having a big round belly! That was when I realized that I’m perfect in my own way—we all are! I was growing a tiny human, and is there anything better than that? Let me tell you, there is! And that’s holding your baby in your arms.
My baby girl, Sofia, was born just a short time ago. I always planned and dreamed of having a natural birth, with no medication and with a quick recovery. However, there were some complications during labor, and I ended up needing a caesarean section. To be honest, I was afraid of the surgery for both me and my daughter. I was also scared of having a scar.
After the surgery, it took my body a long time to recover. During these weeks and months, I couldn’t really do much physical activity, but all I wanted was to exercise and go back to my pre-pregnancy size. Then one day, it just hit me—my body is not the same as it was before having my daughter, and neither am I. And neither my body nor I will ever be the same as before Sofia came into my life. And I’m grateful for that.
I’ve come to love the stretch marks and the scar that my pregnancy left behind, because every time I look at them, they remind me what an amazing journey I’ve been through. Those little marks are just a sweet reminder of the beautiful daughter Heavenly Father has trusted me with. These marks on my body fill me with gratitude, not just for my daughter, but also for my body that can do amazing things like create, carry, and deliver a human being. My scar also reminds me of how even during our darkest times or when things don’t go according to plan, the Savior is with us. When we are afraid or hurt, He is there, and He knows what’s best for us.

I knew that studying the Book of Mormon during my final year of seminary would also fortify my testimony. As I truly studied, I felt Heavenly Father’s love for me. The stories inspired me to the point that all I wanted to do was read the Book of Mormon. I began to take the Book of Mormon to school and would read it during my free time. I also began to discuss what I was reading with my father.
One day after a long conversation with my father about the gospel, I challenged him to read all of the Book of Mormon. I testified that, like me, he could receive a testimony.
I am happy to say that my father read the Book of Mormon. When he did, he knew the Church is true and was eventually baptized! My family is now preparing to be sealed in the temple. I know that attending seminary and reading the scriptures helped me develop my own testimony, and I know that they bless families.

A wonderful example of forgiving comes from Church history. W. W. Phelps was a close friend of the Prophet Joseph Smith and sacrificed much for the gospel. In Missouri, however, he turned against the Prophet and the Church. His false testimony in 1838 helped put the Prophet and other Church leaders in jail, where they suffered terribly for many months.

By 1840, W. W. Phelps had recognized his sin, and he fervently asked Joseph Smith for forgiveness. The Prophet answered: “It is true, that we have suffered much in consequence of your behavior. … However, … we are yet alive, for which we thank the Lord. … Believing your confession to be real, and your repentance genuine, I shall be happy once again to give you the right hand of fellowship, and rejoice over the returning prodigal. … ‘Come on, dear brother, since the war is past, for friends at first, are friends again at last’” (History of the Church, 4:163–64).

So does an employer who is unfair to his employees. An idealistic young professional wrote Church headquarters about the plight of migrant farm workers. He had observed treatment that was probably illegal and certainly unchristian. When I read his letter, I thought of the positive example of Jesse Knight, the great benefactor of Brigham Young Academy. At a time when most mine owners exploited their workers, this Christian employer paid his miners something extra so they could earn their living in six days’ labor and rest on the Sabbath. He did not require them to patronize a company store. He built his workers a building for recreation, worship, and schooling. And Brother Knight would not permit the superintendent to question his workers about their religion or politics (see Jesse William Knight, The Jesse Knight Family, Salt Lake City: Deseret News Press, 1940, pp. 43–44; and Gary Fuller Reese, “Uncle Jesse,” master’s thesis, Brigham Young University, 1961, pp. 26–28).

The next Sunday, i was contacted by some missionaries who asked me if they could visit me at home during the week. I agreed and set an appointment with them. I requested that they bring a copy of the Book of Mormon to me when they came to my house. The missionaries arrived and told me amongst other things “Brother Nimako, do you know that God loves you? The gospel we teach can bless you and your family.” I enjoyed their visit and scheduled another appointment.

I read my copy of the Book of Mormon and prayed. I pondered on the message the missionaries shared and what I was reading in the book of Mormon. I had a good feeling as I did this. I couldn’t wait to be baptised!

The next morning I was up a little before five, tossing bundles of the Herald onto the back seat of the car. During the night the snow had stopped and the world was buried under its wet cottony mass. I glanced down the driveway and wondered if I should take a few minutes to push some of the snow away before pulling out. Blowing on my numb fingertips and stomping the snow from my feet, I shook my head. I didn’t have time, I reasoned. And I was sure I could get out without getting stuck.
The first stop I made was at Sister Rencher’s. With most people I didn’t make the effort to set the paper inside the front door. I just tossed it in the general direction of the porch. But with Sister Rencher I made an exception because it was so hard for her to get around. I snatched a paper off the back seat, stepped from the car, and sprinted for the front steps. I stopped at the end of the walk and stared in disbelief. The front walk and steps were swept completely clean. I glanced at my watch—5:15 A.M. “Boy, somebody’s sure been up early this morning,” I muttered, hurrying up the clean walk and setting the paper inside the storm door. “Maybe Sister Rencher can get around with that walker better than I thought,” I grinned.
“That was quick,” Dad called to me as I burst in from the cold 90 minutes later. He was just putting on his coat and stuffing papers into his briefcase before heading out the door for work.
“There’s a ton of snow out there,” I remarked. “It must have snowed another four inches after we went to bed.”
“I guess you cleaned off the walks and driveway,” Dad joked.
“What did you want me to do, get up at three o’clock?” I grinned back. “I was lucky to get the papers delivered. But somebody was sure up early. Sister Rencher’s walks were clean as spring.”
Dad smiled. “What about Sister Hatch’s and Sister Ballard’s?”
“Dad, I was delivering papers, not home teaching. I don’t go over that way.”

A Jaredite farmer brings a curelom, a rabbit, and a bag of curelom feed to a river. He’s in a real pickle! The raft is only big enough for him to bring one thing across at a time. He can’t leave the curelom alone with the feed, because then the feed would vanish.
Also, as any Jaredite knows, cureloms are deathly afraid of rabbits (at least, they could be). So he can’t leave those two alone together or the curelom would run away. Luckily, rabbits think curelom feed is gross, so those two can be left alone, no problem.
How does he carry all three across the river? (Answer below).

Our crafty Jaredite farmer must carry the curelom across the river more than once. First trip, the curelom. Next, the rabbit. Then he leaves the rabbit on the far bank and brings back the curelom. Now he takes the feed across, leaving the curelom behind. Then the rabbit and feed are on the far side and he simply goes back for the curelom.

When the flooding started, their parents told the boys that they were all going sandbagging. Jimmy and Paul moaned and groaned all day. But after their parents explained to them why they were doing it—to save people’s homes and businesses—the boys were anxious every morning to get to work. Each day for two weeks, they went sandbagging with their mom from 10:30 A.M. until 3:30 P.M., when they’d go home to eat. When their dad got home from work, they all went again from 5 P.M. until about 9 P.M. They were very grateful to the Red Cross, who brought food and water so that they could stay on the job.

Have you ever met a ten-year-old school teacher? No? Well, meet Ellen Morgan, a pretty blond with a sunshiny smile. Ellen, along with her sisters Anna (12) and Claire (8), set up a summer “school” for children in their neighborhood.
Ellen lives in southern Idaho, right beside the Snake River near a place called Thousand Springs. It’s not easy to organize a neighborhood school when your nearest neighbor lives almost a mile away, but the Morgan sisters were determined to earn money for school clothes. Besides, teaching reading sounded like more fun than baby-sitting or doing yard work. They got busy in the old, one-room schoolhouse that their father fixed up on their property, and they sent out announcements that Thousand Springs Academy Summer School was about to begin.
Eight students came. Three days a week for six weeks Ellen and her sisters taught phonics, reading, arithmetic, and music. They also had nature walks, games, recess, and a nutritious snack every day. On the Fourth of July, the students put on a patriotic play for their families.
Teaching school comes naturally to Ellen. Her parents, Randall and DeAnna Morgan, used to be schoolteachers; now they make educational films. Her grandfather owned a business college, her grandmother and great-grandmother were teachers, and several aunts and uncles have taught school.
Ellen has four other brothers and sisters besides Anna and Claire: Jess (14), Bo (6), Laddie (3), and Jane (1). Everyone has inside and outside chores (Ellen takes care of the chickens), and there are many interesting things to do right on their own property. In summer they ride their horses, raft on the Snake River, wade in ditches, and swim in a nearby hot spring. In winter they cross-country ski, put on plays, and have cozy evenings reading aloud. It’s fun getting snowed-in, because that means having school and church at home.
When Thousand Springs Academy Summer School ended, the old schoolhouse was soon bustling again with the Morgan children’s latest project: the Thousand Springs Rural Community Library. Ellen and her older brother and sister collected hundreds of good books for young readers. When they have finished cataloguing the books, the library will be open two days a week, and it will have guest lecturers, story hours, and plays.